Not because I don’t have anything to say, but because if I start, I’ll either throw up or pick a fight.
Waffles is back in the suite, tucked under a blanket. Before we left, I told him that if I don’t come back, do something petty in my honor. He simply blinked at me.
The elevator opens straight into the dining room. Everything gleams. Polished wood, perfect lighting, laughter that doesn’t sound real. The kind that fills a room and dares you to belong in it. Every woman here could headline a law journal. Every man looks like his trust fund has opinions.
And then there’s us.
Rowan touches the small of my back—barely. Just pressure, steady and firm. A quiet reminder that this is part of the act. I’m supposed to smile. To look like I belong here.
Someone near the buffet murmurs, “She’s gorgeous.”
Another voice: “She’s the one from undergrad, right?”
A pause. Then softer: “She looks… expensive.”
A whisper, sharp enough to cut, “I heard she used to be at Havemeyer. Before the?—”
“Shhh.”
My lungs freeze. My body goes rigid. Every word sinks in, one by one, until I can’t tell if the room’s shrinking or I am.
Before the what? Before the suspension? Before I lost everything because of one stupid file?
They know.
Dammit, they know about the leak. About the notes. About the reason I’ll never get near a client again if this spreads.
If Hale & Brooks find out, it’s over. Not just for me. For Rowan. For his perfect record and his perfect plan. I’ll be the mistake he can’t fix.
My chest tightens. My pulse hammers. The room tilts, and I can’t seem to find a single breath that doesn’t hurt. I need out. I need air. I need?—
“Tessa.”
Rowan’s voice cuts through everything. Like it’s the only solid thing left.
I flinch.
He doesn’t touch me, but he’s suddenly closer, anchored at my side, his voice threading through the panic.
“They don’t know,” he says quietly. “I took care of it.”
“But if they—” My voice cracks. I hate that it cracks. “If the partners find out?—”
“They won’t,” he says, steel sliding under velvet now. “I won’t let that happen.”
I blink up at him, heart slamming into my throat. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he replies, his voice a deadly calm. “Because I buried it.”
I just stare at him.
“I cleaned the trail and scrubbed the archive, and I own the man who oversees Havemeyer’s transcript exports,” he says under his breath. “No one’s finding it. And if they try, I’ll know before they do.”
The words hit me in waves. He didn’t just help me tonight; he’s been protecting me for months. Maybe longer.
“Now breathe,” he says, voice a little lower, a little rougher. “Or someone’s going to think I proposed.”
That pulls a shaky laugh out of me.
